User blog:Squibstress/A Slant-Told Tale - Chapter 11
Title: A Slant-Told Tale Author: Squibstress Rating: MA Genre: Drama, romance Warning/s: Explicit sexual content; violence; abuse; alcoholism Published: 23/05/2017 Disclaimer: All characters, settings and other elements from the Harry Potter franchise belong to J. K. Rowling. Chapter Eleven6 January 1956 Minerva was sitting at the small desk in the nursery, helping Malcolm with his Latin, when Elgar popped into the room. “Elgar is sorry to interrupt the lesson, Mistress, but there is two gentlemens downstairs who wish to see you. They says it is urgent.” “Thank you, Elgar,” Minerva replied, closing her textbook. “Malcolm, why don’t you give the Tacitus a try? Please work on translating Galba’s speech in chapter fifteen until I return.” “Yes, Mum,” the boy said with a barely audible sigh. The two men waiting for her in the small parlour removed their caps as soon as Minerva walked into the room. When one of them produced a card designating them Maréchaussées Magiques—agents of French magical law enforcement—Minerva was alarmed. Her thoughts immediately turned to Gerald. What has he done? She projected an air of calm, however, as she asked, “Yes, what is your business here, officer?” She addressed the younger of the two and spoke in English in hopes of wrong-footing the men. She didn’t know what they were here about, but she fully intended to use every possible advantage until she found out. “Forgive me, but you are Madame Macnair?” asked the older, bald one. “I am.” “Your elf informs me that your ’usband is not ’ome, is that correct?” “Yes.” “Then we will speak with you, madame.” Minerva nodded curtly. “You may wish to ’ave a seat, madame. We ’ave some news to impart, and it may be a shock.” Minerva’s first thought was that something had happened to her parents, and she felt herself begin to perspire as she sat on a wingbacked chair and gestured for the men to sit across from her. “Your ’usband is Gerald Findlach Macnair, yes?” asked the elder, taking a seat and gesturing for the younger man to sit. “Yes.” “Then I am sorry to ’ave to tell you that your—I am sorry, ’ow do you say, ‘belle-mère’?” “My mother-in-law, yes … what about her?” asked Minerva, knowing full well what was coming. “She is dead, madame.” “How?” “Regrettably, I must also inform you that ’er ’usband is arrested for ’er murder.” “Gods!” After she had caught her breath, Minerva said, “And I suppose that is why you were dispatched with the news?” “Correct, madame. The English MLE office contacted us when the arrest was done.” “I see. Can you tell me anything of the circumstances?” “I am sorry, madame, but that is the only information we are permitted to supply. You may, of course, wish to contact the English MLE office for further information.” “Of course.” The two men just sat looking at her as if expecting her to say something more. “Well, if that is all?” Minerva said, standing. The two men took the cue and stood. The bald one said, “Again, I am very sorry to ’ave to bring this news, madame.” “I understand, Thank you, officier.” “May we expect that you will inform your ’usband?” “Of course.” Minerva showed the officers out and went into the kitchen to pour herself a glass of water. Heloise. Dead. What unnerved Minerva was not just the shocking substance of the news, but the fact that she wasn’t certain how she felt about it. Minerva had never been close to her mother-in-law, and she found she didn’t feel much about the woman’s death, although she was sorry it had happened. As for Kenneth … much as Minerva had thought him a dangerous, wicked man, she was stunned at the idea that he had murdered his wife, although she didn’t for a moment doubt it had happened. Gerald. Oh … what I am going to tell Gerald? Unfair as it was, Minerva was suddenly angry with him for being out when the officers had called. Now she was left with the painful task of informing him of the news, and she hadn’t the slightest idea how to go about it. She supposed she would just have to be straightforward, as the officers had been. What he would do when she told him was anyone’s guess. She finished her glass of water and went back up to see to Malcolm’s work and to wait for her husband to return from wherever he had gone. Minerva’s heart gave a painful jump when she heard Gerald’s voice in the hallway. “Hullo! Minerva? Where are you? I have good news!” When she appeared in the dining room, where Gerald was pouring himself a small dram of Firewhisky, he turned and said, “Ah, there you are, my love!” He held up his leather money pouch and shook it so she could hear the jingle of coin from within. “I ran into a spot of luck today! A tiny investment I made last week came in and has paid off marvellously! I’m up nearly fifty Livres!” “Gerald—” He put up his hand, saying, “Now, I know you don’t approve, Minerva, but really, I don’t do it often, and this tip was too hot to ignore! Now, what do you say you put on that lovely blue robe I know you’ve got hidden in the wardrobe and we go out to celebrate? Maybe dinner at La Sorcière Bourrée?” He took her by the waist, pulling her close, as she said, “Wait, Gerald—” Then he was kissing her wetly as she pushed at his shoulders. “No, Gerald … wait a minute …” He finally released her mouth, saying peevishly, “Merlin, Minerva … what is the matter with you? Can’t you even—” “Gerald …” she said more forcefully. “What?” She looked at his still-boyish face, and her heart broke for him all at once. “I … I have something to tell you.” His face clouded over as he looked at her grave expression, and he dropped his hands from her waist. “What is it?” “A pair of officers from French magical law enforcement came by today. Gerald … your mother is dead. And your father is accused of killing her.” “What?” “I am so, so sorry.” “What?” he repeated, taking her by the shoulders. “I didn’t know how to tell you—I’m … I’m sorry …” “What are you saying?” he repeated, shaking her, his fingers clutching painfully at her flesh. “I don’t know any more than that. Please, Gerald, you’re hurting me …” He released her shoulders with a push and took two staggering steps away. She followed and put a gentle hand on his arm, meaning to guide him to a chair, but he threw it off violently. “Don’t touch me!” he shouted. Minerva watched him apprehensively, her hands wringing the folds of her robe in her agitation. Gerald suddenly seemed to remember the drink he had been pouring and crossed back to the small, rolling bar to retrieve it. He downed it in one swallow, then threw the glass against the wall. “What the fuck did he do?!” Gerald howled. He dropped to his knees and began to sob. Minerva quickly crossed to him and knelt down beside him. After a moment, she hesitantly took him in her arms and began to rock him, holding his face to her chest as he cried. “Ohhhh, Minerva …” he groaned against her “I’m here, Gerald,” she said. She heard the dining room door open, and Malcolm appeared peering through the doorway. “Mummy … ?” “It’s all right, darling,” she said to her son. “Just go back to your room for a bit, and I’ll be up in a little while.” When Gerald had calmed, she handed him a conjured handkerchief and he blew his nose. “I’m sorry, Minerva,” he said as he stood. “No need to apologise It’s a terrible, terrible shock,” she replied. “No. I should be stronger, not crying like a baby,” he said with disgust. “Gerald, everyone cries.” “You don’t,” he said, almost accusingly. “I’ve never seen you.” She was taken aback. “I … I …” she stammered as she searched for a response. “Will you cry for my mother, Minerva?” She didn’t answer, but took his hands in hers, hoping he would not lash out at her. He had never struck her, but she was afraid of him in his current state. She felt the reassuring firmness of her wand in her pocket. But he let her hold his hands as she spoke. “We should owl your family, find out what’s happening,” she said. He nodded, the anger seemingly gone as suddenly as it had flared, and Minerva quickly Summoned a chair as his knees began to buckle again. Gerald looked up at her with desperate eyes. “I don’t know how much more I can take, Minerva.” All she could say was, “It will be all right.” In the end, it was Minerva who returned to Scotland to see to their affairs. Gerald could not go, as he would be in danger of arrest himself, thanks to the ill-advised investments he had made in Grindelwald’s ventures—investments he had not even had the sense to hide, as his father had. The cost of the trans-Channel Apparition fee, combined with Minerva’s enforced time away from work, meant Gerald would be largely confined to their flat in Minerva’s absence, which was, she thought, both blessing and curse. She left Elgar with very strict instructions never to leave Malcolm alone with his father and to be ready to Apparate the boy out of the house at any sign of trouble. She assured him that she would answer for any consequences and that Elgar was not to punish himself for disobeying any of Gerald’s commands that, in the elf’s estimation, placed anyone in jeopardy. As a McGonagall-family house-elf, Elgar was bound first and foremost to obey Minerva, thank Merlin. Elgar was a sensible elf, and Minerva trusted his judgment. She had to trust it; they could not afford the fee for a side-along Apparition back to Scotland, and in any event, Minerva had no intention of exposing her son to the madness that seemed to stalk his nominal father’s family, nor to the attention of reporters who would be anxious to exploit the spectacle of a pure-blood family scandal. Gerald had been increasingly unstable in his behaviour since receiving the news of his mother’s death. He had not harmed Minerva or Malcolm, but his fits of temper had become unpredictable—he would be perfectly content in one minute, then screaming in a rage the next—and had taken to throwing things when angry. Thank Circe he had not touched her in bed in the week since the officers’ visit. She had been afraid of what he might do, and they could not afford a Healer. When she arrived in Scotland, after settling her things in her old bedroom at McGonagall Manor, she and her father sat in the library drinking tumblers of Scotch as Magnus told his daughter what he knew. “A house-elf found Heloise in her bedroom. She had been badly beaten, and Kenneth was nowhere to be found, so the elf summoned the family’s Healer, who contacted MLE. Apparently, MLE questioned all the house-elves, and they painted the picture that made Macnair the prime suspect. I guess he never gave any of them a direct order not to speak to MLE, and since he wasn’t there when they were questioned, he couldn’t give it then.” Magnus paused to take a sip of his drink, and Minerva saw a small smile cross his lips. “If the bastard had been better to his elves, they might have taken it upon themselves to keep quiet, even without an order,” he said. “Anyway, MLE was looking for Macnair, and someone must have passed the word to him, because he showed up at the house a day later, claiming ignorance of the whole thing. MLE wasn’t buying what he was selling, apparently, because he’s in Azkaban awaiting trial for murder.” “Where is Walden?” Minerva asked, remembering Gerald’s younger brother for the first time. “He was at Hogwarts when the news broke, and as far as I know, he’s still there. Dippet will keep him safe, I warrant, and keep the reporters away from the boy. Speaking of which, you need to keep to the shadows while you’re here, or they’ll be after you too.” Minerva gave an inward shudder. “When’s the trial?” she asked. “Next week. Looks like the man will be defending himself. His family hasn’t had anything to do with him for years, and none of those so-called friends of his have stepped up to help. I’m guessing they’ll use Veritaserum, unless he can come up with a good reason to stop it or get it excluded from evidence.” Magnus’s predictions proved accurate: in questioning under Veritaserum, Kenneth Macnair admitted to repeatedly beating his wife until finally, one evening, he had killed her, then fled the home in hopes of creating a false alibi. It took only an hour for the Wizengamot to declare him guilty and sentence him to life in Azkaban. Predictably, the trial made for a series of sensational headlines in the Daily Prophet, and two stories contained speculations about Gerald Macnair and his flight to France. Minerva was relieved that her name was mentioned only in passing, and Malcolm’s not at all. Nobody made mention of the fact that in the years in which Kenneth had apparently abused his wife on a regular basis, the marriage-contract clause against physical harm had never been invoked. Minerva’s main task in the week that followed was to see to Gerald’s interests in the oversight of Kenneth’s assets. The task was made simpler by the fact that these were greatly reduced, given the poor performance of Kenneth’s recent investments and the reparations that had been ordered to be paid to the Rookwood family for Heloise’s death. Essentially, all that remained was the house and some land, and there wasn’t much to be done other than to appoint an executor to manage the estate in the quite likely event that Azkaban prisoner number 243 was rendered unable to see to his own interests after a few years in the tender care of the Dementors. Gerald was clearly not a candidate, nor was Minerva herself, given their ex-patriot status. Walden, at fifteen, was still two years from attaining his majority and would need a guardian besides. At Minerva’s behest, Kenneth’s sister, Louisa, reluctantly agreed to take the boy in for summers and see to any estate-related affairs until Walden came of age. When that happened, he could take over the estate’s management until Kenneth’s death and the execution of the terms of his will. Minerva owled Hogwarts’ headmaster, Armando Dippet, with two requests: one, that the boy be permitted to stay at school over the Christmas and Easter holidays, and two, that an application be made to the Indigent Scholars’ Fund on his behalf. Minerva wrote candidly to the headmaster that she and Gerald were not in a financial position to pay for Walden’s schooling themselves but that they would contribute whenever possible. Minerva hoped and trusted that the memory of her outstanding work at the school might lend some weight to her requests. She also thought that the deputy headmaster might weigh in in favour of granting them. When a Hogwarts owl came to McGonagall Manor bearing a note saying that Walden would be funded for his final two years at the school and was welcome to stay on over holidays, Minerva breathed a sigh of relief and sent off an owl to her young brother-in-law, telling him to keep his head down at school and to contact her should he encounter any difficulty. With that, she packed her bags, embraced her parents, and headed back to France. Minerva arrived home exhausted but anxious to see Malcolm. When she opened the door to the flat, she had to blink a few times before what she saw registered in her mind. The place looked as if a herd of Hippogriffs had gone rampaging through it. As she stepped in over the debris, she called hesitantly, “Elgar?” Moments later, the elf appeared in front of her with a small pop, obviously in great distress. “Elgar is terribly sorry, Mistress! Elgar is only just returning from taking Master Malcolm to Monsieur and Madame Berquier, and I is not having time to tidy up yet.” “Please don’t worry about that, Elgar,” replied Minerva, “but do tell me what’s happened here.” Elgar looked around and lowered his voice so that Minerva had to lean down to hear him. “It was Master Gerald. He is making a big row and smashing things. Elgar is thinking … Elgar is sorry, Mistress … but Elgar is thinking Master Gerald is having too much Firewhisky. Master Malcolm is crying, Mistress, and Master Gerald is yelling … Elgar is thinking it is better for Master Malcolm to go away until Master Gerald is calmer.” “You did quite right, Elgar,” Minerva reassured the distraught elf. “Do you know where Master Gerald is?” “I is just checking on him, Mistress. He is sleeping on the floor of the Master and Mistress’s bedroom.” “Thank you. Please go ahead and tidy up as much as you’re able. Dispose of anything that is broken that you cannot mend. I will see Master Gerald, then I will fetch Master Malcolm. Thank you for taking care of him in my absence.” Elgar gave a small bow of his head and popped away again. Minerva steeled her nerves and ascended the staircase to confront her husband. She found him passed out on the floor of their bedroom, reeking of Firewhisky and piss. She used her wand to remove his filthy clothes, clean him, and Levitate him to the bed. After cleaning and healing the cut on his lip, she methodically tidied up the clothes that were strewn around the room. She then stepped out of the room and placed a Locking Charm on the door. Minerva Apparated to the front stoop of the large, Seconde-Empire-style townhouse owned by Petrus and Celestine Berquier, the wealthy parents of one of her pupils. Malcolm had sometimes played with their younger son, and he had been a guest in their home on more than one occasion. A house-elf answered the bell and showed Minerva into the small salon off the entryway. Two minutes later, Malcolm came bounding into the room and her arms, followed by Madame Berquier and Roland, Malcolm’s young playmate. “Mummy, I’m so glad you’re back!” Malcolm exclaimed as he hugged her hard, then stepped back, a sheepish look on his face at having betrayed such childish emotion in front of his friend. Minerva hugged him back and thanked Madame Berquier for having looked after Malcolm for the afternoon. She did not fail to notice the coolness with which the woman bid them goodbye. That night, as she sat on the side of Malcolm’s bed tucking him in, he said, “Mum? What’s wrong with Father?” “He’s very, very sad right now, Malcolm.” “Because of Grandmother Macnair?” “Yes, darling.” “But why is he so angry? Did I do something wrong?” “Oh, no, love. Not at all. But sometimes, when people are very sad or frightened, they act angry.” “Father frightened me.” “I know, and I’m sorry. I know he didn’t mean to. But I’m here now. Everything will be fine.” “I missed you, Mum.” “I missed you, too, darling,” she replied, kissing his cheek. “Sleep well now, and we’ll talk some more in the morning, all right?” Two hours later, Minerva was sleeping on a small bed she had Transfigured from a bench in Malcolm’s room, when she heard shouting from down the hall. Gerald was rattling the door and yelling, “God damn it, Elgar, open the fucking door! I’ll have your hide for this, you little bastard!” Minerva quickly cast a Colloportus on Malcolm’s door to keep the sound out and went to see to Gerald. When she unlocked their bedroom door and stepped in, Gerald cried, “Minerva!” She wasn’t sure what he was going to do, but he surprised her by sweeping her into his arms and embracing her hard. “Thank Merlin you’re home!” She patted him awkwardly on the back as he hugged her, and endured the kiss he planted on her lips, despite the odour of stale liquor and vomit on them. He doesn’t remember, she thought suddenly, and it frightened her. “Oh, how I’ve missed you,” he murmured against her mouth. When his hands moved to undo the clasp to her outer robe, she said, “Don’t you want to know what happened while I was in Scotland?” “Later,” he said, moving her toward the bed. In future years, she would remember that night as the only one in which he had been truly tender, and the first and only one in which he took long enough to bring her to orgasm before he spent himself. She fell asleep wondering what was to become of them. ← Back to Chapter 10 On to Chapter 12→ Chapters of Slant-Told Tale, A